Only the Beginning
by writtendaydreams
Summary: fate (n.): the will or principle or determining cause by which things in general are believed to come to be as they are or events to happen as they do. Luke Castellan gets three more tries, and he vows not to get them wrong, even as fate tries to intervene.
1. Prologue

**Next: **_Prologue_

**Date Finished: **Wednesday, October 3, 2012. 2:00 PM

**Words: **_656 _

**Author's Note: **_Luke's next three lives. PLEASE REVIEW._

_i._

"_Think . . . rebirth. Try three times. Isles of Blest."_

_ii._

"Mr. Castellan."

No answer.

"_Mr. Castellan_."

"What?" Vertigo took over him and he stumbled forward a few steps to the judge's panel. Three people gaze upon him with unsure expressions. One man with a scruffy red beard and a mean face leans in with total disapproval.

"Some hero, you are," he says. "I assume you know who I am?"

"Don't be so hard on him!" the old woman next to him chides. "He is Alexander the Great and I am—"

"Are you Marilyn Monroe?" Luke asks. He sits down on the wooden chair provided for him. The judge next to her huffs and puffs. She rolls her eyes and adds, "This man is Jacques Cousteau. He was some oceanographer—"

"Hey!"

"Shut up! You know nothing about the wonders of the—"

"You're Marilyn Monroe?" Luke repeats, still stuck on that fact.

"Yes, of course, I was a daughter of Aphrodite, but that doesn't matter now. We are here to talk about your fate," she says and Luke swallows. He knows he's dead, no one has to tell him that, but whatever happened to his life? How did he die? Was it tragic or was he just old? His head is swimming with unanswered questions and his throat is closing up from anxiety.

He drums his fingers on his jeans and says, "How did I die?"

Alex Whatever-His-Name-Is opens his to respond, but Marilyn shushes him. "That, my dear, does not matter. All that matters right now is where you are going. You are open to all options: The Fields of Punishment, the Fields of Asphodel, Elysium, or rebirth for the Isles of Blest." Luke twists his mouth to one side and wonders what he could have possibly done in his life for the Fields of Punishment, but then what did he do to make up for it so that Elysium could be an option.

"Oh, child, if I were you I wouldn't chose the Fields of Punishment! But, in your case, it's surely an option!" Jacques says.

"Are you saying I deserve it?" Luke growled.

"Why, yes—"

"Shut up, already! He made up for his mistake! He didn't have to be the hero!" Marilyn fires back at Alex and he stays quiet.

"Luke, honey, I wouldn't recommend Elysium for you. To be honest, I don't think anyone would want to see you even after how your life ended. It would be better for you to choose rebirth," she says. Luke begins to wonder what that all means, what did he do to make everyone hate him? What could have happened? Was he a terrorist? Did he murder anyone? Did he betray anyone? A little _ding! _goes off in his mind and he automatically knows he must have done something along those lines, but how did he become the hero in the end?

Why would he do that though? He mentally groans and presses his fingers to his temples. "I can't remember," he whispers.

Marilyn leans forward, her hair in pretty ringlets and lipstick and says, "Luke Castellan, I have faith that you can make things right. And I know deep down inside of you, you know you should choose rebirth. You owe it to yourself to find happiness and love and everything you didn't have in your previous life. Begin again, Luke, begin again and live again." Her words fly at him a million miles per hour and he knows this is what he has to do.

He has to make things right again and live the life he is supposed to have. He doesn't know what his past life was like, but he hopes this next one is better, because he says shakily, "Sure. Hit me up! I'm trying for the Isles of Blest."

Marilyn directs him to where he will go to be briefed on what will happen next, he stands to leave when she says with a glint in her eyes, "Be careful, Luke Castellan, history has a tendency of repeating itself."

_iii._

"_Be careful, Luke Castellan, history has a tendency of repeating itself."_

_iv._


	2. Henry I

**Next: **_Henry _

**Words: **4,850 (11 pages).

**Started: **Wednesday, October 03, 2012

**Finished:** Sunday, June 16, 2013

**Author's Note: **_Uh, before any of you ask, Henry is not a demigod, but he can see through the Mist like his adoptive father. Please __**review**__!_

_i._

"_Don't give up yet. You have odds to beat."_

_ii._

Luke Castellan is lucky enough to be born into a life where he had a father that is there in his life.

On October 3, 2019 a child is dropped on a doorstep in a playful, suburban Colorado neighborhood. Even though the owner of the house hasn't noticed the child yet, Mrs. Klowder finds the bundle squirming, and on the verge of tears the next morning. She had originally come to ask if Kellan Chambers had received any mail meant for her, but the thought quickly vanished when she saw the fussy child.

Startled, she scoops up the child in her arms, and rings the door bell. One, twice, then thrice. She uses her free hand to swipe the auburn perm out of her face before the door swings open revealing a half-asleep Kellan. He's so tired, he doesn't notice the bundle, and turns away leaving the door open for Mrs. Klowder to step inside.

The counter is buried under car keys, paperwork, multiple pens and pencils, two laptops and random fruits, and granola bars. She rolls her eyes at the thirty-one year old tactics. He's a respectable man, but men, always messy. She doesn't even have to open it to know that the refrigerator is full of junk and microwavable meals.

"What are you doing here, _this early_?" Kellan is a polite man, standing six foot nothing, but he likes sleep and doesn't like to be disturbed of it. Mrs. Klowder narrows her eyes at him as he collapses against the recliner. His brown hair sticks up in multiple places, and the blue-and-white, nautical bathroom robe he wears is hastily thrown on. He turns to look at her with green eyes, and then it clicks with him. He sees the child and says, "Did you adopt? What's his name?"

Mrs. Klowder quickly contemplates in her mind if she should tell him, the child was found on his doorstep, and is most likely meant for him. He obviously isn't expecting the child and as messy and unprepared looking as he is, she almost says, "Yes. This child is mine," but she doesn't. She could get in trouble with the law or the kid might grow up bitter, knowing his mother is gone and not knowing where is father is. She hopes Kellan Chambers isn't one of _those _fathers that miss every event, every game and everything in general, but that cannot be. He's too nice, but how would he act as a father? First, she scolds herself for even assuming the child is his. Because it isn't. Mr. Chambers works himself to death, he'd have no time for a girl.

"No," she hurries. "I found him on your doorstep."

Kellan cranes his neck as in asking, _Come again? _He whips right up out of his chair and stands frozen.

"Kellan, dear, I could this child on your doorstep. I—I— Is it yours?" she says. Kellan's mouth hangs open in a wide gap and his brow is furrowed in confusion, but not once has he tried to step up and hold the infant or get any closer. The baby still squirms more and more by the second, and it's getting harder for Katherine Klowder to cradle him.

"No! No! It can't be. It's not possible. I haven't been with anyone since, a long time."

_iii._

Wrapped in the folds of a blanket was a note, scrawled in messy handwriting was note written hastily.

The note said something about how the boy was bad luck and how gods and monsters would come and curse the boy. The note said that he had too much to lose, and his kid wasn't worth it.

He had seen monsters and strange things his whole life, but kept it to himself, knowing he'd be thrown headfirst into an asylum if he told anyone, especially his judgmental mother who piled piano lesson after piano lesson and sports and tutors on him. She was tough and he couldn't trust her with the information. She would've called him a liar, at the least, if she was still alive.

So now, Kellan stands in the dining room with his back pressed up against the kitchen counter feeding the child a bottle. He doesn't know what to do. He _knows_ he can't take care of the child on his own. _Is adoption the best option for this kid? _Kellan doesn't know, but he wouldn't want to do that. He was adopted and he is still sometimes bitter about his parents leaving him, so why would if even be an _option. _He wants to give his child a good life, whether or not he expected him or not. And he was going to do everything in his power to give him just that. _I guess I'm keeping him. _Kellan wonders if his kid even has a birth certificate or a social security card, he'd have to go to court or something and tell a judge that the kid was born on a farm or something like that.

"What am I going to name you . . . ?" He thinks about a bunch of different names, but one strikes him as the best fit for the kid:_ Henry. _Kellan says it aloud and he likes it even more.

"Henry. I'm Kellan, but you can call me dad. I wonder if you have any powers or anything cool. If you don't I'm fine with that. You're cool anyway though. Maybe? You don't know? That's okay." He pauses before adding, "I promise to keep you safe. I cross my heart."

Kellan Chambers rarely makes promises and when he does, he means them.

_iv._

Henry Chambers is five years old when he first remembers seeing a delivery man. "Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad—!"

"Yes, son." His father folds away the newspaper and opens the door for the delivery man. He jumps up from the sofa while his son clings onto his legs making it hard for him to walk, but Kellan doesn't care. Henry has always been attached to, such as teddy bears, clothes, blankets and his father. Last week he spotted his son comforting the teddy bears he wasn't going to sleep with that night. Kellan knows his son is sensitive (and it probably came from his mother), but kids grow out of these things, right?

They go to the park every afternoon and play baseball back and forth, right before the sun sets because Henry likes that time of day. They do father-son bonding activities daily. They go get ice cream. They talk about what five year olds like to talk about and Kellan even enrolled him in the best elementary school in Salt Lake City, but it didn't calm his ease of being able to see the world of the gods. A few months back Venus had appeared to him, and had said something about how Henry had an interesting past, and to keep him safe because he has, "Odds to beat." Kellan doesn't exactly know what that means, but he knows he wants his kid to live a good life.

And just last week, Kellan went to a barber shop to get Henry's hair cut. All was going well until, a monster had started to attack the barber. Kellan had scooped up Henry in his arms and rushed him out of the hell hole. And last month, they were on an Amtrack train on the way to the zoo when a lady tried to discreetly _kidnap_ Henry, but that didn't work out all too well. Before sneaking back away, she hissed, _everybody knows who he is._

Kellan opens the wood door wide and a man with salt-and-pepper hair in a brown delivery suit stands on their porch step grinning ear to ear. "Hermes Express, at your service!" Kellan glances down and sees Henry's blue eyes brighten and he smiles too. "Sign here, sir, and I'll be on my way." He signs the clipboard and the delivery man hands him the brown package. The man walks a way, whistling a tune and Kellan shuts the door.

"What are you grinning about?" He ruffles his sons light brown hair and Henry giggles.

"I like the delivery man!" The five year old throws his hand out in emphasis while his father sits him on his lap once more and they turn on reruns of 90s television cartoons. Kellan spends the rest of the afternoon laughing over the silly jokes his son tells him.

_v._

Henry is six years old when his father meets a woman. It's Thanksgiving when Henry finally meets her. He peers through the crack of the door and narrows his eyes. To be honest, he doesn't want to let her in. If he lets her in, then, she's going to stay _forever. _He doesn't want to share his father with some _girl. _Girls have cooties and they're so annoying with their dresses and long hair and their jump rope. Henry hates jump rope and he hates girls and he hates sharing his father. Even though a minute has passed since his father asked him to let Jane in, he still hangs on the brass doorknob is hopes that if he waits long enough she'll grow impatient and leave and never come back.

That doesn't work because his father comes from the kitchen, sets Henry on the couch and opens the door wide and welcome for the _girl_. Henry screws up his faces and his father rolls his eyes. "Jane meet my son Henry. Henry meet Jane."

Jane sticks out her hand for Henry to shake. He reluctantly shakes it, and quickly pulls away. She frowns when he jumps off the couch, and runs into his room.

"So, how old are you, Henry?" They sit at the dinner eating walnut salad, turkey, mashed potatoes and Wesley's other favorite goods. He can't enjoy it, though. He's too busy staring at Jane who is clearly afraid to speak to his father. Henry wants to scream or do a face-palm, but he knows his father will ground him.

"Henry. My name is Henry," he says it with as much frustration as it's possible for a child to shove onto five words. Jane's eyes widen at Henry and he rolls his own. She must've never met a child like him before, but, then again, most adults haven't either. He knew he was different and the kids in his class made sure he knew it. He played by himself in the sandbox while Jack kicked dirt in his face and crushed his sandcastles. On occasions like that, Henry tries his best not to start a fight with the twerp anymore, because last month he tackled Jack and punched him in the face. He got in big trouble and his dad was disappointed. Henry doesn't like to see his dad upset. Then there's the adults in the neighborhood who judge his father for not being married when he had Henry. Mrs. Klowder was the only one who was nice to him, until she died last month of leukemia. Now, he was stuck with this some freak of a woman who was going to hate Henry as much as everyone else because he was strange or weird or different kid.

"I'm sorry, Henry," Jane says. She draws shapes in her mash potatoes like Henry does and frowns, but Wesley just stares at her, mouth wide open. No one has ever sad sorry to him until now. He stares at Jane and his feelings toward her suddenly. He's mad at himself for starting to like her, but he can't stop it because _what if she really is nice? _Maybe his father can keep her around long enough for Henry to find out.

"You like to draw shapes?"

"Yes, I do." Jane looks up.

"In your mashed potatoes?"

"Yes."

Henry doesn't have to force out the next words, "Can I call you Janie?"

A wide smile spreads across Jane's face. She really does have a pretty smile, Henry thinks.

"Yes, you may call me Janie."

Kellan lets out and deep breath and slumps in his seat in relief. His tie cascades to the side and his messy hair sticks up in multiple directions. Henry covers his face and giggles at his father. Janie laughs, too and claps her hands together. "I have this game that my parents used to play with me when I was younger. Let's play."

The object of the game is to find the person in the dark. You have to turn off all of the lights and play hide and go seek. It seems _too _simple for Henry, but he agrees and they all hind in different corners of the house. He creeps on his tip-toes and hopes he will not be found so early in the game. He grabs a play sword and wields it around in the dark, pretending to be fighting off an evil monster. He imagines himself fighting a dragon fiercely and winning and getting the girl in the end like in all those movies or books. He wonders if he'll ever get a chance to do anything like that, but, of course, he wouldn't because dragons aren't real. Monsters are not real.

He crawls on the ground, now, being as silent as possible. He tries his best to slow his breathing, and maybe his father of Jane won't notice him. Suddenly, he hears a noise and turns swiftly, and sees a figure in the dark. A smile spreads across his face, knowing it's his dad being the bad hider he is. He reaches forward and tackles his dad who hits the floor with a thud and a laugh.

"I caught you! I caught you! I—" His father interrupts him by clamping his hand over his son's mouth.

"Shhh, we still need to find Janie. She's here somewhere. Here, climb on my back." His father offers him a hand and Henry wraps his arms around his dad's neck. Kellan stumbles around in his socks, trying to stand. He accidentally walks into a wall and Henry almost falls off his father's back from laughing so hard and trying to stay quiet. It's moments like these with his father that he really, really likes. Just being with his dad is something Henry likes. He wishes it could be like this forever.

When they think they found Janie, she pops up from behind and scares them half to death, but everyone's laughing so hard the neighbors come to check if everything's okay. Janie goes home an hour later, leaving everyone smiling.

Henry didn't think he'd like Janie at all, but he was wrong about her. She's someone he would want as a mother and he asks his dad if Janie could come over again.

"I'm sure she'll be back another day."

To be honest, Henry can't wait for that day.

_vi._

Henry is eight years old when he first goes to the beach. They started off the morning by waking up early and packing. His dad didn't like to ever pack on the night before because he thought it was bad luck to and Wesley didn't question it. Whatever his dad says, goes. Janie wasn't ever superstitious like Dad was, but she followed boyfriend, too.

Henry bounds down the hardwood floor and into his Dad's bedroom. His dad is hunched over his suitcase and is sorting through tee shirts when Henry comes up from behind him and hugs him around the waist. Kellan pauses and kneels down in front of Henry. Kellan's tiny wrinkles make creases going different directions on his cheeks. His light brown hair is brimmed with silver and in hangs down in a mess over his winkled-covered forehead. Henry reaches out and pushes the lock of hair past his father's head so he can see his whole face. Over the years, even with Janie around, his father hasn't changed a lot. They still did the same things, just with Janie with them, sometimes without her, but Henry really liked the times where it was all three of them together because it made him feel whole and happy inside. Like when he spent last Christmas with just Janie and his dad and the dinner and the walk in the snow. He hopes going to the beach with them both will be kind of like that. And Janie is really fun, she tells stories and jokes and likes all of the TV shows that his dad and him like to watch. Janie is like the girl version of his father and Henry likes her even more for that, but it seems like since he's met Janie, he's been more relaxed and happier than he was before he met her. Before he met her, he was always had his guard up and never relaxed even around his family. Don't get Henry wrong, he knew his dad loves his parents, but when they found out Kellan had a son out a wedlock . . . they weren't very happy at all. For years, until Henry just recently, they distanced themselves from Kellan and his son. Now that Janie's in the picture, his grandparents are starting to talk more and more again to his dad and Henry didn't think that was fair at all. Families should accept one another, not treat them like crap when they think they do something wrong. But then again, his father didn't do anything wrong.

Kellan pulls Henry in for a hug and they hug for a long time before he lets go. "Are you ready son? This is going to be a fun weekend!" He slips on his glasses and picks him up. Henry may be eight, but he's really short and scrawny, unlike others in his grade. "Let's go see if Janie is packed, why don't we?" Henry nods and hugs his father's neck. They find Janie in the kitchen, stuffing snacks and water bottles in her bag. She turns at the sound of Kellan's footsteps and she smiles.

"You guys all packed?" Janie clasps her hands together, excitedly for this is their first _family _vacation.

"Yes we are!" Kellan repositioned his son in his arms, and picked up two of the duffle bags in his other hand.

They spend the day walking around the small towns that surround San Luis Obispo. They window shop and sit in an old salon, drinking root beer and watching reruns of long gone TV shows. Janie's hair is pulled back into a pony tail. Her blue eyes are bright and she wears a big sweater and Henry asks a question that's been nagging at him for awhile now. "How old are you, Janie?"

Janie is mid-bite of her vanilla ice cream when she slowly and awkwardly retracts the spoon from her mouth. "What?"

"How old are you? My dad's like thirty-six so what about you?"

"Twenty eight."

"Twenty eight?"

"Twenty eight."

"Oh, okay."

The trio spent the rest of the day at the beach, playing in the sand and taking pictures. By the end of the day, all three of them are completely exhausted and tired. Janie holds Henry's hand on the way back to the hotel room.

"We had a good day today, didn't we?" Janie asks Wesley.

"Yes we did!" Henry laughs and grips her hand.

"Yes, we did." Kellan repeats, taking his son's other hand into his own.

That's one of the last good days the three of them will ever have together.

_vii._

Henry is eight plus three months when Janie is diagnosed with Stage 4 breast cancer.

Henry is nine plus nine months when she dies.

Kellan and Henry spread her ashes on the beach with some of her friends and family, and even though Janie and his dad had gotten married, months before, it just didn't seem enough.

Henry and his father spend the rest of the afternoon walking around the beach. He watches his father. He watches steady tears stream down his dad's face. He grabs his dad's hand. "I'm sorry, dad."

"What do you have to be sorry for? You didn't do it, okay?" He tries for a smile. Henry nods.

"Dad?"

"Yeah, son."

Henry hesitates for a moment. "I'm sorry for your loss."

"No, Henry." His father stops him at the edge of the shore, kneels in front of him and sets his hands on Henry's shoulders. "No, Henry. I'm sorry for _your_ loss. You—You needed a mom, and you loved Janie—" Kellan swallows and wipes the tears that roll down his sons face.

Henry swallows and his father continues walking with him, like the conversation never happened.

Kellan never really gets over the loss of his wife. He stops working, and becomes a full-time stay at home dad. A role that Kellan doesn't really love, but knows it's what he has to do to support his son.

And even though everything seems hopeless, life goes on.

_viii._

_Seven Years Later . . ._

"Hey, dad? You home?" Henry opens the door, and tosses the keys the key –bowl on the counter (even though he's not sixteen yet, he's still a pretty good driver, so his dad usually lets him take one of the cars to go to the grocery shopping sometimes). "He's probably at uncle Davy's house or something," he mutters to no one, flopping himself down on the couch and flipping on the sports channel. A few moments late, Kellan comes bounding down the stairs with sweats on, and soaking wet hair.

"Sorry, son, I was in the shower, I couldn't hear you . . ." His father pauses for a second, as if contemplating whether he should say something or not. "Hey, Henry?"

"Yeah, Dad?" Henry turns to face Kellan. He frowns when he sees his serious face. "What's wrong?" His father was rarely ever serious, and events like these means something is really wrong . . . Kellan sits down on the spot next to him and lowers the volume on the TV. His heart thumps and his throat begins to close. "Dad?" Henry waits, growing more nervous every second.

His father swallows, "Henry, I've been wanting to talk to you about something. Something important that I should have told you years ago, but I just, I think I _forgot _the truth, because the truth didn't seem like the truth you know?"

"What are you talking about? I have no _idea_!" Henry stretches his fingers nervously, trying to snake out the anxiety boiling his insides.

"No . . . maybe we should talk about it later tonight after we catch that movie we talked about earlier?" Henry can tell that Kellan's doing everything he can to get himself out of the hole he dug himself in.

"Dad, it's okay. You can tell me." He tries a smile, but he really doesn't have the heart for it. What could it possibly be?

"Mrs. Klowder found you on my doorstep when you were a baby and I adopted you, but I want you to know how much I _love_ you and you _are_ my son and no one can ever take that away—"

No.

"No." Henry's reacts the exact way Kellan hoped he wouldn't and he's just staring at him—

"Why? Why didn't you tell me? I could have handled it. I would have grown up knowing the truth and not some lie! I can't believe—" Henry dizzily stands up, and tries to run to the door. I need air, I need air, he thinks.

How could this be true? It didn't make any sense; if he really loved Henry then he would have told him when he was younger. Why didn't he tell him? He could have grown up knowing it, and knowing the truth. Could the truth have been that bad?

He swings open the door, and sits at the end of the block for a few minutes, sucking in his breath, and trying his best not to cry. His hands cover his face and, eventually, silent tears do come. He doesn't know how long it is, before he hears the noise.

The loud strangled cry of what sounds like a girl.

He stands up straight immediately, his head swiveling to the sound of the noise.

And, there she is.

A girl dressed in purple fighting off . . . Is that a monster?

Holy shit.

Holy shit.

He takes in the scene in front of him.

Around the corner stands (or barely stands) the girl, fighting off the monster (?) with a sword. A sword? It gleams a bronze and radiates power. He's hunched over her, claws tearing at her, while she dodges, and moves away from him, luring it down the street away from the houses.

"Hey!" he shouts, his sadness gone in the midst of everything, "Hey! What's going on?!" Deep deep down in the pit of his heart, something tells him to just walk away, and never look back and his life will be just fine. _But, he can't._ He can't let this girl die by something unknown. He doesn't want to underestimate her, but from the looks of it, she's losing stance and she won't be standing very much longer.

She turns her head at the sound of his voice, and that's just enough of a distraction for the monster to knock the sword out of her hands . . . and at the feet of Henry Chambers. He blinks for a split-second, mentally debating whether or not he should take action, but before he's even fully decided, he scoops up the hilt of the sword.

He'd be lying if he said he knew exactly what to do. He had taken a few fencing classes when he was younger because he and his father were into sword fighting movies, and fencing was as close as they were going to get to actually fighting.

This was his chance.

He grips the hilt tightly in his hand, taking slow careful breaths and running forward at full speed. He didn't know what would happen when he drove the blade home, but when it did—straight into the back of the monster—he really didn't expect it to burst into flames and crumple into golden dust. He falls back on his hind legs, and coughs, brushing off all the goo and dust from his face, and clothes.

Did he just kill a monster?

Or was this day just too crazy that it'd had to be a dream.

That's it. He pinches his arm over and over again, hoping that this all was just some terrible dream, and he was never really adopted at all, and he didn't just kill a monster, and all of this was never real—

"You can stop pinching yourself." He opens his eyes to the girl, on her hands and knees, looking like she's about to throw up. "It's not a dream," she heaves, turning onto her side on the pavement.

"Oh gods," she groans, uncurling herself, and beginning to stand. Even though dusk has fallen, he can still make out her face in the bad lighting. She's small, but lean, and muscled with light blonde hair that falls just above her collar bone. Deep green eyes stand out in the darkness, boring into his.

"Monsters. Monsters aren't real," he says again, pinching himself harder. "This can't be real. First I'm told I'm adopted, and now I just killed a monster—"

"You're day sounds like it sucked. Sorry, dude, but I got to get going. I'm kind of on the run right now, so, if you're done with your panic attack—"

"What?"

She sighs, and scoots over beside him. "I guess you can see through the Mist, can't you? You're obviously not a demigod, because if you were, I already would have met you. There's this deal where the gods have to claim—"

"What are you talking about?" When his eyes open wider in bewilderment, she laughs, and pats him on the back.

"Welcome to my world, Buddy. Welcome to the world of the Greek gods."

Holy shit, she must be crazy.

"I probably am. Crazy, you know. I'm surprised it didn't drive my parents crazy."

He stares at her.

She stands, warily, hands out, as if trying to prevent the world from spinning. Before he can even answer any of the batshit crazy crap she's been talking, she turns around. "You coming or not?"

"To where?" he asks, suddenly standing himself. _Walk away._

_Walk. Away._

But, he can't. He's drawn to her, and he doesn't even know her name.

"On a quest—an adventure. To find someone. Are you coming?" she says, starting to walk down the paved civilian street.

Still in the daze, he sputters out, "I don't even know your name."

"It's Penelope. Penelope Jackson. Come on along, then, why don't ya?"


End file.
